Steven Seagal IS An Unstoppable Force
by LadyCordeliaStuart
Summary: Steely cop Vito Falconetti must match wits and fists with Carver Kilkenny, an IRA fighter willing to do anything for his cause... even kidnap Vito's daughter.
1. Steven Seagal IS Vito Falconetti

"Watch your surroundings. Always be aware of coming danger."

The words were tense, but the voice behind them was soft and calm. Vito Falconetto sat in the passenger seat of a well-used, four-seat brown sedan. His relaxed demeanor contrasted harshly with the stiff and jerky movements of his student. Christy, Vito's daughter, had just begun practicing for her driver's test, and she was as nervous as she was excited. While her fledgling efforts were privately amusing to her father, Vito knew that with time, she would gain confidence.

Christy yelped as the car went over a speed bump. Vito smiled softly.

"It's okay. Just tap the-" he started. Christy stomped on the pedal and the car squealed to a stop twenty feet from the sign.

"Sorry," she said with embarrassment. Vito glanced behind to make sure there was no one approaching, and then sideways along the intersection to check that the path was clear.

"I can go, right?" Christy asked. Vito nodded his assent and the car lurched forward, pulling him back into his seat. The ride grew smoother as Christy drove down a straight, well-paved road. She stared straight ahead with palpable focus.

"That's good, but remember to look in all directions. Danger can come from anywhere," Vito said. Even as he spoke, another vehicle crested the hill ahead of them. Vito scanned its exterior and narrowed his eyes. Christy didn't notice, but his gaze was probing and far away all at once. The model of the car, the dirtied hood, even the dark green paint. There was no real danger, only a familiar memory. Another car, so long ago, one he'd been searching for ever since that day...

* * *

 _Eighteen years earlier..._

The patrol car screamed down the road, reaching speeds Vito hoped Christy had never dreamed of. No matter how fast they went, they couldn't go fast enough. Not when Carver Kilkenny was their objective.

Before, Carver's kind had kept their political discontent and their violent protests to their native country. Now, they spread across the world, bringing their bloodshed to people who had nothing to do with their cause and everything to do with the suffering it brought. There were snipers on towers, bombs in subways. This time, they suspected both, and much more. Carver himself had called in the threat. Vito had been there when his harsh, accented voice was broadcast across the station on speaker.

 _"There can never be peace until the whole world sees our war. While you walk on streets of gold, we wade through streets of blood. No longer can you turn a blind eye to the bloodshed that palgues us. We will force you to see every mutilation, every shattered life. Your mothers will know the pain of ours as we cradle lost children. There is no other way out. When you tire of war, there will be peace."_

Vito had dealt with madmen before. He'd fought men shot up with so many drugs they thought they were animals and fought like them. This was so much worse. There was intelligence in Carver, and intelligence devoted to mayhem. There was no reasoning with someone so convinced of his cause. There could only be war.

Carver was waiting for them with Vito arrived with the other cars. Even in the darkness, the city lights illuminated him as he perched atop an apartment building. When Vito examined him through binoculars, he saw his fist clenched around a tiny black rectangle.

"Snipers are in position, but it's a dead man's switch," Vito's superior, Captain Ramsey said, confirming Vito's suspicions. "We're trying to talk him down."

"What does he want?" Vito asked.

"He says he wants the people to take notice of his fight and join him. We can't get any specifics. Frankly, he just wants to see something burn," Ramsey said.

"Then let's give it to him," Vito said. "Where are the entrances into the building? Is he the only one?"

"There's a back entrance and a coal chute. We know he has more men in there, but not how many. It's possible they don't know about the chute," Ramsey said, and then he paused. "Don't get any wild ideas, Vito. This is a delicate situation, not a shootout."

It was too late for that. Vito was already heading toward the building, determined to solve this problem the only way he knew how. He stopped only a few feet into his advance when Carver stood suddenly. Ramsey held up an arm to gather everyone's attention.

"Are you ready to talk, Kilkenny? We're here to help you. Tell us what you want," Ramsey said into a loudspeaker. Kilkenny had no such amplification, but his purposeful voice was loud enough to resound in the icy night.

"You're ready to talk? Only now, when it's your people who are dying. What is it your law says? All men are created equal? Now let them die equal," Kilkenny said. Vito knew what he was going to do the instant before it happened, but he was too far away to do anything but watch as Kilkenny opened his hand and threw the detonator into the air. In the second before the explosives went off, officers scattered and dove for cover. Vito stayed where he was. He'd never thought Kilkenny was enough of a fanatic to kill himself for a point. It didn't make sense for the leader of a movement to be the sacrifice.

The explosion proved him right. The bricks under Kilkenny's feet remained untouched. It was the building next to him that blew, showering glass and debris onto the policemen that ran toward it in their retreat. Screams and cries filled the air as Kilkenny watched stoically from his perch.

The only thing that blotted out Vito's worry for his comrades was his fury. It didn't matter how many men Kilkenny had now. He turned his back on his quarry and ran to help his friends. He dodged the patches of fire and the falling bricks, scooping up the nearest man and carrying him to safety. He knew that the next chance he had to look up at Kilkenny, he'd already be gone.


	2. Steven Seagal IS A Pimp Hater

There was no apparent danger, but Vito was still on alert. On patrol in one of the rougher neighborhoods of Manhattan, he had to be. The area was full of organized crime and disorganized narcotics. The criminals might scatter before his patrol car, but he knew they were lurking around every corner.

"So I says to her, 'Hey, it's not even warm!' I come home after a ten hour shift, I'm tired. I expect at least a warm dinner. Is that too much to ask?" Vito's patrolmate, Lieutenant Nichols, complained. Vito wasn't really listening, and Nichols knew that. Nichols liked to talk and Vito liked to stay quiet, so the arrangement benefited them both. Vito scanned the streets around them as Nichols continued his tale.

"Hit the brakes," Vito said suddenly, and Nichols stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" he asked as the car slowed.

"Look at that woman over there," Vito said. He pointed to a woman wearing a short, tight black skirt and heavy makeup. She was talking to a man in a brown leather jacket, and she kept backing away from him. He pressed closer until she was against a wall, and she held her hands out defensively. They couldn't hear what she was saying, but her expression spoke volumes. Vito opened the door when the car was barely stopped.

"Oh, no. Try to go easy, okay?" Nichols said, but Vito didn't respond. He walked toward the man as though nothing was wrong, but inside he was already disgusted. When the man suddenly slapped the woman, who shrank back against the wall, Vito couldn't bear it any more and barreled toward the man like a tank. He stepped between the pair and poked the man in the chest.

"Hey, you feel like a man hitting women? Because all I see is a little boy," Vito seethed. The man smacked his hand away.

"Fuck off. The bitch stole my money. All I ever did is help her. I'm her manager," the man said. Vito turned to the woman.

"Is that so?" he asked. The woman was holding her hand to her bruised cheek, and her mascara was smudged with tears.

"Yeah, it's fine. He's a good manager," she said.

"I don't think he is," Vito said, and he turned back to the man. "Why don't you get out of here before I do to you what you did to her?"

The man snarled and threw a punch at Vito. It didn't land, mostly because Vito smacked it aside like a fly and shoved the flat of his hand into the man's nose. Blood oozed from the wound and the man screamed. He pulled a knife from his pocket and Vito grabbed his arm, twisting it until the man dropped the knife. He flipped the man over his own arm and slammed him to the ground. He saw Nichols running toward them and turned to reassure the woman. While Vito had been in plainclothes, Nichols was in uniform, and the woman fled the other way when she saw him coming. Vito let her go. She was the victim here, and the law was too often judgmental and negligent in cases like hers.

Vito would have let the fight end there, but the man wouldn't give up. He lurched up and grabbed Vito's leg. Vito pivoted and kicked the man across the face. He slumped back down and this time, he didn't get up.

"Easy enough for you?" Vito asked when Nichols reached him.

"For his kind, nothing's too hard," Nichols said. He reached for his radio to call in the details of the action when they both heard the radio in their patrol car go off. Nichols hastily snapped handcuffs onto the man while Vito returned to the car to hear what was going on. He snapped into high alert when he heard the announcement.

 _Calling all cars, calling all cars. Possible 10-33 in progress. Proceed immediately to location. Repeat, 10-33 in progress. All officers report immediately to 5336 Fellini Lane, zip code 10004._

The calling officer repeated his message, but Vito was beyond hearing. There were two things that caught his attention, so much so that he slammed the door shut and sped off, leaving Nichols shouting and running after him. First, a 10-33 was a bomb threat.

Second, the address was his own.


	3. Steven Seagal IS Even Madder Than He Was

When Vito reached his house, half a dozen squad cars were already parked along the road next to it. Dozens of policemen were camped around the small suburban house, filling the small yard and spilling into the street. Captain Ramsey was waiting for Vito in the driveway. He started talking before Vito was fully out of the car.

"Don't go running in, Vito. Nobody was home. Michelle and Christy are safe," he said, and Vito slowed to a walk. Even catching Carver was unimportant compared to that. Michelle would be at work, and Christy would be out with one of her many friends.

"What's the situation?" Vito asked.

"Kilkenny phoned in the threat, but he's not in there. As far as we can tell, nobody's in there. The bomb squad is already inside trying to locate the explosives. It doesn't look like the bombs are set to go off when someone enters the house. Our theory is that Kilkenny has a camera by the bomb and he's waiting for you," Ramsey said.

 _Of course._ Though they'd hardly met, Vito and Carver were already mortal nemeses. Carver wanted to make sure he got his target and no one else.

"Let me go in and help them," Vito said. It wasn't right for anyone but himself to oppose Carver.

"Are you nuts? That's the _last_ thing you will do! You want to go in there and look for a bomb aimed specifically for you? Park your ass outside, Vito. You're a spectator this time," Ramsey said. Vito sullenly came to a stop, glaring at his house and anyone who went by.

Shouts and movement from inside the house caught his attention, and he watched hawkishly as three men dressed in padded fatigues and bomb armor exited the house carrying a bundle of wires and tubes. Policemen scattered around them.

"It's okay. It's just a fake," one of the bomb squad said. He poured out one of the tubes of "explosives"

"It's just charcoal," he said. Vito examined the powder from his perch, his mind already calculating why Kilkenny would pull such an absurd stunt.

" _Charcoal?_ What is this? You checked the rest of the house? There's nothing else?" Ramsey demanded.

"It's clean," the bomb squad leader confirmed. Ramsey buried his head in his hands and shrugged helplessly.

"All right, everyone. Fall out. We'll let the CSI team take a look and then everything can go back to normal," he said. Vito resumed his course toward his house, and this time Ramsey didn't even try to stop him.

"Hey, don't touch anything," he halfheartedly warned. He knew by now that Vito would do whatever he wanted, and that he had to pick his battles.

He would have been surprised at how obedient Vito was. He waited until the CSI crew was through with the house before he did any investigating of his own. Of course, it wasn't because he cared about Ramsey's warning. He just wanted to be alone if he found anything. Kilkenny had made this personal, and he didn't want the police interfering in their fight. He picked his way around roped-off segments of rooms and baggies full of possible evidence, poking through each room and looking for anything out of place. More than anything else, he was furious that anyone would encroach upon his home. It was his stronghold, and the invaders would pay dearly for their crime.

It was late when Vito finished his rounds and returned to the living room. He was somewhat surprised that Christy wasn't back yet, but it was nothing to be worried about. She often stayed out late with her friends, but she was always careful. If she decided to stay over with one of them, she'd call to check I and gain permission. Vito glanced at the phone as he thought, and he noticed the answering machine was blinking. Somewhere in all the fuss, someone had called. Most likely before, or the bomb squad would have raised hell at the possible remote detonation. The house was cleared, so Vito knew it was safe to play the message. He pressed the button.

" _Hello? Who is it?"_ he heard Christy's voice. Something was strange, and it only got worse as the message went on.

" _Do you have a minute to discuss a petition?"_ a polite voice joined the recording. Vito strained his ears to capture every detail of what came next, and he soon wished he hadn't.

" _Thank you, but I'm not interested- Hey! What are you doing? You can't come in!"_ Christy's voice came from the machine, and then the message deteriorated into a series of panicked screams and sounds of struggle. Something crashed against the wall, and Christy yelped with pain. Vito gripped the machine with such ferocity it nearly shattered, and the only thing that stopped him from throwing it against the wall was the hope that Kilkenny may have let slip some valuable clue. The screams and thrashing stopped, and there was a moment of silence.

 _"You think you're willing to do anything for your cause, just like me. Now we'll find out who's right,"_ Kilkenny's Irish accent broke into the recording. " _It's a shame when innocents get pulled into these things. I know that all too well."_ the recording clicked to a stop.

The plastic casing of the answering machine crackled and popped under Vito's grip. He shook with silent fury, and the heat radiating from him scorched the room. Kilkenny thought he had him nailed down. If he had Christy, Vito wouldn't dare to act against him. What Kilkenny didn't know is that he'd done the worst thing he possibly could have. He'd wounded the bear, but he hadn't finished the job. Before, he was a mortal enemy. Now, he was an unstoppable force.


	4. Christy Falconetto IS Getting Kidnapped

Christy Falconetto was minding her own business when she got kidnapped. She'd never done anything to deserve it. She was a normal girl who worked hard to maintain her above-average grades and enjoyed wholesome activities like going to the mall with her friends. That is what she might have done that afternoon had she not been interrupted by a pair of terrorists.

The doorbell rang as she was studying a chemistry textbook. Her father was gone busting down doors or terrifying criminals, and her mother was at her much more sedate job analyzing risks for an insurance company. Vito always told her that if someone came to the door, she was supposed to sneak behind the curtains and peek out at them before she answered. Sometimes she did, but it was all so paranoid. She was sixteen years old- old enough not to get stolen away by some pervert. She walked to the door normally without spying on the visitor.

 _Ooh, check out the cute salesman. I'm buying,_ she said as she saw who it was. It was actually two people, one of which was Christy's age. But Christy, with her mature (or perhaps more immature than she thought) taste, was looking at the elder of the pair. He was so tall she almost had to lean back to see his face, which was as handsome as the rest of him. Some girls didn't like lines on a man's face, but to Christy they provided character. His hair was so perfectly disarrayed that she wanted to stand on her tiptoes and muss it up more, and the fingers curled around the paper he was holding were long and slender, just the way she liked them. The younger guy with him was okay too.

"Hello? Who is it?" Christy asked as she opened the door. She hoped the tall man would answer, but instead the other guy did. He didn't have nearly as hot a voice as the tall man surely did. He sounded more like a comedian than a heartthrob.

"Do you have a minute to discuss a petition?" The skinny guy asked. That was the only thing Christy didn't want to hear. If there was anything Vito was more strict about than home security, it was privacy. He refused to tell any strangers or authority figures anything about the family's political leanings. Everyone knew he was a gun-toting survivalist, but he insisted on keeping quiet. Not that he could possibly do any more damage to their chances if the government ever did decide to do what he was guarding against. He was a highly conservative, former military individualist. He was already on the top of every list imaginable. All the same, he'd rubbed off on Christy, and she was wary of discussing politics with anyone she didn't know.

"Thank you, but I'm not interested-" Christy began. The tall man interrupted her mid-sentence. He walked through the doorway while she was still in it, pushing her back into the house like a piece of flotsam. His broad shoulder nearly whacked her upside the head as he marched inside the house.

"Hey! What are you doing? You can't come in!" Christy protested as the man did not listen. She tried to dodge past him and run outside, but the skinny guy ducked inside and shut the door behind him. He looked outside the window to see if anyone was coming, but the exterior of the house was deserted. Most people were at work or school, and Christy had the horrible feeling that this had been planned far in advance. It was most likely organized by some criminal her father had arrested (or possibly beaten half to death, or possibly both), bent on revenge by whisking away and ravaging his only daughter. She was grateful her would-be ravager was hotter than heck, but she still struggled with all her might to remain chaste and unravaged.

She ran for the phone across the room, but the skinny guy jumped after her in a flying tackle and pancaked her to the ground. It wasn't fair that guys were so much bigger than girls and didn't even realize it. Christy's scream was squeezed out of her by the skinny guy's weight and she could hardly move underneath him. If he hadn't gotten up himself, she might have been stuck permanently. She wailed and hollered as loud as she could muster, hoping that if there was no one nearby she could reach those further away. The skinny guy tried to grab her arm and she smacked his hand away. He almost looked sorry, and she wondered what he was doing in this mess. The tall guy, meanwhile, was fiddling with a wire on his chest. Christy picked up a decorative vase from the room's coffee table and threw it at the skinny guy. He dodged it and it shattered against the wall. She backed farther into the room, throwing anything else she could find. She hit him with a heavy book and he stumbled back a step. Her next missile, a ceramic teapot, went wild and struck the tall man in the back. He turned, and Christy was afraid she'd pissed him off even more, but he didn't even look mad. He crossed the room, reaching her in two long steps. He seized the front of her shirt and picked her up effortlessly. He tossed her across the room and she yelped as she crashed into the far wall. She slid down to the floor half-stunned and barely felt it when a picture frame, loosed by the impact, fell and shattered on her head. The skinny guy gasped and covered his mouth with his hands.

 _Ow..._ Christy thought dazedly as the tall man came for her again. He wrapped an arm around her waist and picked her up like a suitcase. He feet barely reached the floor as he started to carry her out the door. She grabbed him around the leg and bit him, but his pants were so thick she couldn't do any damage. He shook her loose like a dog and continued on his path.

 _He was right all along. Perfect,_ Christy thought. Her paranoid, doomsday father was right. He'd still come and bail her out of this, but she was _so_ going to be grounded.


	5. Steven Seagal IS A Public Nuisance

There was no one to hear Christy scream as her captors hauled her into a grimy, barren warehouse. Bits of wire and nondescript equipment littered the floor around her. The men herded her into a windowless room and the older man left, leaving Christy with the smaller man. Christy looked around the room and was relieved to see the absence of any sort of bed or mattress. Other than a wooden chair and a bare lightbulb on a string, the room was empty. But if that wasn't the plan, what was?

"What's going on? What do you want?" Christy asked.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this. Carver's just mad at your dad," the skinny guy said.

"Who isn't? Look, you better let me go before he comes looking for me. Know what happened to the last guy that threatened his family? They couldn't identify the body," Christy said. The young man took a step away from her like he was afraid just by association. He parked himself in front of the door.

"It shouldn't be long. Carver will be ready to- he'll be done soon," the man said.

"What's he gonna do?" Christy demanded. Now that she could really look at him, she saw that her captor was barely older than she was. He was tall and skinny, even though he looked small next to Carver. He had limp black hair and an unfitting baby face.

"I'm really not supposed to talk about that," he said.

"Are you at least going to tell me your name?" Christy asked. Her hands were on her hips and she was already feeling defiant. If he was going to be so mousy, she was going to press her advantage.

"It's Sean," the boy said.

"How'd you get mixed up in this, anyway? You don't seem like the type to hang out with someone like Carver," Christy said.

"I'm not supposed to talk about that either," Sean said.

"So you're just going to stand there and stare at me?" Christy asked. Sean didn't answer, and that did it. Christy had picked up a few things from her dad. She knew how to hotwire a car and how to use a gun, though she'd never seen the thrill of firing at targets. One of her dad's more annoying and effective weapons was a simple death stare. Vito could pin a guy down from across a room and make him wish he was already dead without even touching him. If Sean was going to stare at her, she was going to stare right back.

* * *

New York City was a melting pot of cultures and ethnicities. One street might be draped in cheery red lanterns, and the next was filled with the noise of solemn Russian hymns. Vito didn't care where a criminal came from, and he'd seen them all. It wasn't often he visited Little Ireland, but he knew the way. Woodlawn's sidewalks were lined with Irish flags and cheery four leaf clover insignias, proudly declaring the town's heritage. Vito wasn't looking for the nice, welcoming storefronts and touristy pubs. He wanted the town's seedy underbelly, where politics ran high and overseas contentions weren't forgotten. He stopped in front of a broken, half-lit sign promising cheap whiskey and cheaper women, and then he stepped inside.

Cigarette smoke and bawdy songs were thick in the air. Green lamps shallowly lit the wooden tables and stained bar inside the pub. A dozen patrons sat in various perches, mostly on the wooden stools in front of the bar. Two or three looked up at Vito's arrival, but the reaction was light. After Irishmen, Italians were the most numerous group in Woodlawn. Vito set about getting the reaction he needed by slamming the door shut and shouting.

"Anyone here know Carver Kilkenny?" he called. The room fell silent for an instant, and then everyone went back to their drinking. Vito stomped up to the bar and stood next to the closest patron.

"Hey, you know Carver Kilkenny?" he asked. The man swiveled on his stool and ignored him.

"You gonna order something or what?" the bartender asked as he wiped down the counter.

"I'm looking for Carver Kilkenny," Vito repeated.

"Who wants to know?" the bartender asked churlishly.

"Maybe the cops. Maybe none of your business," Vito said.

"Why don't you take a hike?" the bartender asked. He dodged back a step at Vito's glare.

"This guy giving you trouble?" came a voice from behind Vito. He turned and saw three men clustered around a pool table. One was smacking a beer bottle against his empty hand, and the other two looked like they meant business as well.

"Maybe you guys can help me," Vito said, and he walked closer to the men.

"Maybe we can. We can help you find the way out," the man said. "Now use it before someone gets hurt."

"I wouldn't want that," Vito said. Before the man could react, Vito punched him across the head, sending him spinning into and across the nearest table. Patrons scattered as the second man ran at Vito. Vito stepped aside and clotheslined him, grabbing the beer bottle from his hand and smashing it across his head as he went down. He grabbed a tablecloth from one of the tables and threw it at the third man as the first started to get back up, streaming blood from his nose. The first man ran into Vito, knocking him back a step against a wall. Vito grabbed him in a headlock and smashed his face into a table. As the man tried to get back up, Vito grabbed a dart out of the wall board behind him and slammed it into the man's hand, pinning him to the table. The man's screams filled the air as Vito turned to meet the second man, who was coming at him with shards of glass in his hair. Vito blocked his punch with a crooked arm and twisted to throw the man to the ground. He heard the third man coming at him from behind, and he bent forward at the waist to flip the man over him and onto the second man. He brought his knee into the second man's nose as he flopped on the ground, and then the pair was still. The only one left in the pub, other than the fighters, was the bartender, who was huddled against the wall behind the bar.

Vito picked up a glass from the nearest undisturbed table and poured it over the two moaning men on the floor beneath him. With nothing left to impede his way, he advanced on the bar.


	6. Steven Seagal IS Torturing a Guy

**This chapter is short because it's a gratuitous torture scene and contains little plot.**

* * *

Vito reached the bar and snaked one hand over, snagging the collar of the retreating bartender.

"Come on, man. Don't bate me bag!" the bartender pled, his accent thicker as he succumbed to panic. But it was for naught, since Vito yanked him over the counter, dragging him across the wood and spilling the drinks that the fleeing patrons had left behind.

"Maybe now you know where Kilkenny is?" Vito asked, his voice barely a whisper. The man shrank back in his grasp.

"Nay, I don't. Really I don't," he said. He yelped as Vito started to move, dragging the man with him across the bar toward a door set into one wall. He tossed the man through the door into a bathroom.

"What, you goin to give me a swirly, mate?" the man taunted. Vito ignored him and silently pulled a bunch of paper towels from a dispenser on one wall. The man watched in befuddled curiosity as Vito stuffed the towels into the drain of one of the white ceramic sinks lining the wall adjacent to the door. He turned on the water and it began to fill the bowl. The man leaned closer to look.

"Yer going to wash your-" he started, but he couldn't finish, because Vito grabbed him by the back of the head and shoved his face down into the sink. The man's nose cracked against the tile bottom and blood mingled with the rising water as he snorted and tried to escape Vito's grasp. Vito yanked his head back and addressed the sputtering man.

"It's been a few minutes since I last asked. Have you seen him yet?" Vito asked.

"Are you daft? You're a cop!" the man said.

"We'll give it another minute then," Vito said, and she pushed the man back down into the bowl. Waves and bubbles arose from the water as the man thrashed and gurgled. But his struggles were no match for Vito's iron grip.

When Vito finally hauled the man up, he gasped for breath and heaved like a fish. A pinkish trail of watery blood oozed from his nose, and his hair was disheveled from the struggle.

"Did I give you enough time?" Vito asked, his quiet voice playful.

"What do you mean, enough-" the man started. He shrieked as Vito started to plunge him back in.

"All right! All right!" the man relented. Vito pulled him back up and let go of him, watching with an expectant smile.

"All right, I've seen him," the man said defeatedly. "He comes in once in a while. He hasn't been in in a long time."

"And why might that be?" Vito asked.

"I don't- he's working on something!" the man said as Vito pulled him a step closer to the sink by his collar.

"Something nice, maybe? A good old Fourth of July party?" Vito pressed.

"He doesn't want anyone to know about it," the man said. He looked away from Vito's probing gaze.

"I'm sure he'll understand," Vito said.

"I can't-" the man said, and was again cut off. This time, Vito didn't release him after he pulled him from the water. The man sputtered incoherently for a moment before he spoke.

"He's going to blow something up," he said.

"No shit. Where?" Vito asked. The man looked back at the water. Vito pushed him an inch closer to the water and the man relented.

"The _hospital,_ all right? He's going to blow up the hospital," the man said.

"Which one?" Vito demanded impatiently. There were dozens of hospitals scattered across New York City's massive sprawl.

"The new one. The one for the kids," the man said. Rage filled Vito as he made the connection. Cooper Pediatric Hospital was adding a new wing devoted to recreation and play therapy for its young residents. Any children well enough to be out of bed would be attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony, as well as the city's mayor.

"Ah, feck me. Carver's not going to be happy about this," the man said as Vito went through the scenario in his head. The bartender noted his faraway gaze and interrupted.

"Right, I told you. Let me go, yeah?" he asked. But instead, Vito's hand moved from his collar to his throat, and the man's already colorless skin paled.

"You'd let them die?" Vito's nearly inaudible voice was tight as a wire. The man vainly tried to claw free of his grip.

"Carver would've killed me if I told. He will now anyway," the man choked out. Vito walked with him further into the bathroom.

"What are you doing now?" the man squeaked.

"Putting you where you belong," Vito said. He picked the man up one-handed and threw him across the room. He flew threw the swinging stall door and smashed headfirst into the back of the toilet in the handicapped stall, falling limply across the bowl.

"With the rest of the shit."


	7. Steven Seagal IS Smarter Than He Looks

There was no time for idle chatter. After Vito called the police to tell them about the bomb threat to the hospital, he headed straight for the building himself. He had a few minutes before the hospital would be made aware of the threat and locked down. In that time, any of Carver's goons wouldn't be expecting any trouble, and he could take them out before they knew what hit them.

The hospital was only a few streets down from Little Ireland, and Vito was there in record time. He burst into the front entrance, ignoring the receptionist who tried in vain to welcome him and ask who he was there to see. He charged through the foyer and into the narrower halls, deep into the bowels of the building.

At such a late hour, there was hardly anyone out and about. All the patients were in their rooms, and Vito didn't disturb them. He knew Carver's men wouldn't be in there. They would be in the nearly finished new wing, planting the bomb that would destroy the hospital and kill dozens of innocent children.

Vito knew he'd found what he was looking for when he came across a pile of bricks outside a door leading into a dark room. He pulled on the handle and the door swung open with no resistance. In the darkness, he could still make out a strip of black marking tape across the door's latch, preventing the door from locking. He crept in through the door, his keen hearing already searching for any signs of intrusion.

There was a soft scuffle, and he froze. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spied a pile of boards reaching halfway to the ceiling. Plainly, the men were hiding behind it. Vito stepped closer to the pile and a man burst out from behind it. He ran at Vito, who dodged his attack and smacked him sideways easily. A second man followed the first, carrying a pipe. Vito caught the pipe and twisted it from theman's hands. He swung the pipe like a baseball bat and caught the man upside the head. As the second man fell, the first got back to his feet and came around for another charge. Vito simply held the pipe out in front of him and the man nearly impaled himself in the stomach on its blunt end. The air rushed from his lungs and he crumpled again. From the corner of his eye, Vito saw a third man trying to run deeper into the unfinished wing so he could escape. Vito picked up a brick from the floor and flung it at the fleeing man. The brick hit the back of his head and he fell forward. Vito kicked the first man in the face to ensure he didn't get back up. Only after he had accomplished all this did the hospital's alarms start going off. It was good to know his comrades were so speedy.

Another, softer ring joined the clanging alarms. Vito followed the noise to a phone set into the wall of the room. It was just barely installed, and wires still dangled from its plastic case. He picked the phone up, already anticipating what he would hear.

"Is everything ready?" Carver's voice came through the phone. "What's going on? You're overdue."

"Sorry, they've checked out," Vito breathed into the phone. In the silence that followed, he could hear Carver's rage.

"You're too late. It's already done," Carver said after he regained his voice.

"I have an entire bomb squad on the way. We'll find your little surprise before the sun comes up," Vito said.

"Then what's stopping me from killing your daughter now?" Carver asked, and Vito's blood boiled.

"Because you know what I'll do to you if you do," he said. Carver laughed like he didn't have a care in the world.

"You think you've stopped me? You can't comprehend how far I am ahead of you. You haven't even slowed me down, and if you keep trying, it's Christy that will pay," he said. Vito heard someone struggling in the background, and then a clunk, as if the phone had lurched.

"Daddy! I'm in-" Christy's voice came faintly through the line. Then there was a yelp and another thunk.

"You're a dead man already," Vito growled.

"So is she, if you don't stay out of my way," Carver said. There was a click as he hung up.

Carver thought he knew everything, but Vito wasn't as stupid as he looked. Christy was brave to try to help him, but it wasn't necessary. He knew exactly where she was before she said a word.


	8. Steven Seagal IS Really Observant

" _It's Christy that will pay,"_ Carver said, but Vito was hardly paying attention. Not a single sound reached his attuned ears, including everything that was going on behind his enemy. Anything could tell him where Christy was, and he found what he needed before she ever spoke up.

To anyone else, it would have just sounded like a horn, the sort of horn any driver might honk when he was cut off on a highway or simply didn't like the man in front of him. But Vito had spent years patrolling the streets. He could tell a simple car horn apart from the louder, longer blare of a construction vehicle- even more specifically, a crane. A crane that would only be operating in one part of the city...

The sounds of police sirens and shouting voices broke into the room as Carver hung up. As inconveniencing as it was, Vito was going to have to explain the three prone men and the mess he'd made of the room. The only part he'd leave out was Carver's call. That was his business alone.

"What happened this time? Were they jaywalking?" Captain Ramsey said when he saw the carnage.

"They were planting a bomb," Vito said casually. Outside the open door, a nurse wheeled out a patient in a bed as the building was evacuated.

"All right, boys. Get them out of here with the others," Ramsey said, and more policemen came in to clean up the mess Vito had left. Vito followed them out of the room, assisting with the evacuation and watching for any more signs of trouble. When everyone was safely outside, they waited as the bomb squad pored over the building.

"What's the verdict?" Ramsey asked as the first of the uniformed men exited the building.

"It's clean," he said.

"What?" Ramsey asked.

"It's clean," the man repeated. "There's nothing there."

" _Nothing there?"_ Ramsey turned to look at Vito. "What happened to the bomb?"

"It's in there. Carver-" Vito started, then stopped.

"But he hasn't been in contact with you, _right?_ Because you would have reported that immediately, _right?"_ Ramsey asked.

"Of course. Maybe they just didn't look hard enough," Vito said.

"You want to go look yourself? Maybe I didn't do my job well enough," the bomb squad leader said.

"Don't give him any ideas," Ramsey said. "Look, Vito. You've had a long day. After all the excitement earlier, it's not surprising you're on edge. I have a lot of paperwork to deal with, since you jut assaulted three men I dearly hope were actually criminals. Why don't you go home and cool off? Spend some time with your family. They're probably much more shaken up than you are."

"Sir, at least keep a few men on surveillance. We might have beaten him to the punch," Vito said.

"If we did, he certainly isn't going to strike now. He knows the jig is up," Ramsey said. He saw Vito's expression and relented. "All right. I'll leave two men to keep an eye on the place. And there are cameras everywhere. Nothing will happen."

There were a million and one things Vito wanted to say and do. He wanted to tear back into the hospital and rip it apart until he found the bomb Carver promised was there. Whether it was too cleverly hidden or simply a ruse devised to discredit Vito, he wanted to know. The last thing he was going to do was go home to a wife who didn't even know what had happened yet and a daughter that wasn't there. But he was on thin ice already with his captain.

"All right. Call me if you need me," he said. Captain Ramsey waved him off dismissively and turned to address the crowds of policemen and reporters all wanting a piece of him.

But Vito didn't go home. His mind was on the horn he'd heard and the place he knew it had come from. A crane of that size was only used for one thing: demolishing buildings. The absence of other noises in the area indicated it was somewhere isolated. It could only be the outskirts of the industrial district, where the very oldest buildings were demolished to make way for new developments. In that labyrinth of decrepit concrete shells, Carver was hiding, waiting to make his next move. He didn't know it, but his master plan was about to fall to pieces.


	9. Christy Falconetti IS Persuasive

Christy much preferred being cooped up with Sean over having to deal with Carver. While Carver was just plain nasty, Sean seemed to simply be in far over his head. He looked positively bashful as he halfheartedly guarded her. "Guarding", for him, consisted simply of sitting in front of the door. Since there were no windows and he was nearly a foot taller than she was, that was all that was required to keep her in the room. As scary as it all was, she took malicious pleasure in the fact that the silence seemed more awkward for him than for her. In the end, he looked so contrite that she took pity on him.

"So, what do you do when you're _not_ destroying the establishment?" she asked. He looked up like it was an accusation, then relaxed as he saw that it was not.

"I play Star Fox," he blurted.

"Oh, you're a _nerd?_ I should have guessed," Christy said, but she was smiling.

"I am not! Nerds play Final Fantasy. Star Fox is much more casual," Sean said. This was obviously serious business to him.

"You're a casual nerd," Christy said.

"That's not nice," Sean said.

"You're the one who kidnaps people," Christy said. Sean's face fell.

"Sorry. I didn't want to," he said.

"Carver made you do it?" Christy asked in an understanding tone.

"Yeah," Sean said.

"Yeah, he's pretty forceful. Why'd he pick you?" she asked. "You're not really... violent."

"Our families go way back. He's always talking about national pride and how families should stick together ever since the Troubles started," Sean said.

"What's the trouble?" Christy asked.

"You guys don't even know about it? Carver was actually right about something," Sean said. Somewhere along the line, he moved closer and sat next to her, but it didn't scare her. "The Troubles started way back in the sixties when a bunch of people started protesting about government stuff. Everyone kept getting madder and things started getting violent. By the time I was born, it was everywhere. It was just part of life," Sean said.

"Wait, so there's like a war going on in Ireland?" Christy asked.

"Just Northern Ireland. England says it belongs to them, but we don't. But really, I don't care. I just want to go outside and not hear guns," Sean said.

"There are people just shooting in the streets?" Christy asked in horror. Sean nodded.

"Bombs and stuff too. Just before I left, one of them hit my friend's house. We used to play Mortal Kombat together," Sean said.

"That's awful! I'm glad you're here where it's safe," Christy said, and then remembered the situation. "Sort of."

"Sort of safe or sort of glad?" Sean asked.

"Sort of safe. Maybe it's Munchausen or whatever, but I like you a lot better than Carver," Christy said. Sean looked away guiltily.

"Hey, it's okay. My dad will be here soon. You should probably just hide in the corner of something when he does, though. He's gonna be really mad," Christy said.

"It's not that," Sean said.

"What's wrong?" Christy pressed.

"Carver's planning something really bad. Don't tell him, but I hope your dad gets here quick enough to stop him," Sean said.

"Crap, what is it?" Christy asked. "Oh, you're not supposed to tell me." Sean shrugged.

"I don't think you'll snitch. Back home, some of us thought the only way to drive the English out was to do something so horrible they wouldn't want to stay. So they started planting bombs in everyday places and hitting normal people. That's what happened with my friend," Sean said.

"Carver's going to blow up a bunch of innocent people?" Christy asked. Sean was near tears by this point.

"He didn't want to say exactly," he said. "But I don't know what else it would be."

"We can't let him do that! We have to tell the police," Christy said.

"No! To Carver, there's the IRA and there's traitors. He won't stop with me. You have to cut out all the bad blood," Sean said.

"He can't do anything if he's in jail," Christy said.

"He's too smart for that. He's been doing this for years," Sean said.

"You'd rather let all those people die? Just like your friend?" Christy asked, and she stared him down. She softened when she saw just how scared he looked.

"Hey. It'll be okay. My dad's coming soon. He might already be fighting Carver now. Carver must be scared of him, or he wouldn't have made you kidnap me," Christy said.

"What'll they do with me? They execute rebels back home," Sean said.

"We don't do that here. They don't even have to know. We'll say you heard me call for help and helped me get away while Carver was gone. They'll get in contact with my dad and I'll tell him what happened. He'll cover for you," Christy said.

"Are you sure?" Sean asked. The mere thought of crossing Carver was enough to make him shake.

"We have to warn whoever Carver's after. It'll be okay. I promise," Christy said. Without even thinking about it, she leaned forward and hugged Sean as they knelt on the floor. After a minute, he hugged her back.

"Okay," he said at last. And everything would have been fine had not Carver interrupted.


	10. Vito Falconetti IS Not In This Chapter

It was incongruous how softly and normally Carver opened the door when balanced with the unbridled insanity of his next actions. It wasn't as though he found Sean and Christy _en flagrante_ or even kissing. They were just sitting on the floor sharing a comforting hug. Unfortunately, Carver's lightning-quick mind leaped straight to the most overblown and unlikely conclusion. He crossed the room in two long steps and hauled Sean up by his shirt.

"You really do only have one thing on your mind," he said with equal parts derision and dark amusement. "I leave for a few hours and you're grabbing at her cacks."

 _What?_ Christy tried to imagine what "cacks" were. There were only a few possibilities. Sean tried to back away as Carver held him.

"No! I wasn't, I swear! We were just talking," he said.

"You didn't even have the rawny to get the job done?" Carver asked.

"What are you even talking about?" Christy asked. She half-rose as Carver threw Sean away and he scuttled farther. She moved to help him up and Carver grabbed her arm.

"I'll show you how it's done, boy," he said. He pulled her closer.

"Hey!" Christy said as he grabbed at the front of her button-down shirt. She smacked his hand away. Carver smiled.

"Oh, she's a firey lass, isn't she?" he said. "Too much fire for a boy like Sean. She needs a man." He grabbed her by the back of her head and kissed her so swiftly her only reaction was a muffled and repulsed yelp. She tried to push away as he squished her against his chest.

"Leave her alone!" Sean yelled. He tried to get between them and Carver backhanded him so hard he fell back to the floor. Christy felt guilty for a flash of relief that the movement pushed him a few inches away from her.

"You've changed your mind, have you? Just like you changed your mind about everything else we came for," Carver berated Sean. His accent got thicker with each sentence. He kicked Sean in the ribs as he tried to get up on all fours. Sean whimpered and fell on his side.

"Stop it!" Christy yelled. She forgot how much she wanted to be away from Carver and tried to push him away from Sean. Her assault had no effect on his giant frame, and he seemed amused by the attempt.

"You can't stop now. Isn't this what you wanted?" Carver taunted Sean as he reeled Christy back in closer. He yanked at her shirt and popped the first button, revealing her throat. She grabbed the fabric and held it shut.

"Look at it! Be a man for once, you spineless traitor!" Carver yelled, and Christy quailed at the terrible noise. He tossed her down next to Sean, who was looking away modestly. She tried to get between him and Carver and Sean pushed her away as he cowered.

"I'm not a traitor! Please," Sean pleaded as he rose to a kneel. Carver smashed his knee into Sean's nose and then grabbed him by the throat, hauling him upward.

"You're a turncoat as gutless as the Limey devils!" Carver yelled. "Years I looked out for you, thinking we're partners in the fight, and you throw it all away for the first brasser you lay eyes on!"

Sean was not even trying to escape by then. He was staying very still and hoping not to make Carver any more angry. It was unclear what would have happened had Christy not continued to interfere.

Carver was so busy tormenting Sean he didn't even notice Christy had rolled up his pant leg until she bit him. He kicked more reflexively than angrily and the movement hurled Christy into the nearby wall. She hit it hard enough to stun her, and she lay where she fell trying to catch her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carver coming closer. Behind him, she could see Sean bent over on the floor pressing on his ribs.

Instead of pulling her up, Carver knelt down beside her. He put on hand on the wall over her head and loomed over her.

"I always liked it rough," he said. He kissed her so forcefully it pressed her head down against the hard cement floor. She thrashed and pounded at his back with both fists as he kissed her under her ear and down her neck toward the skin exposed by her opened shirt.

She felt a tug and Carver looked up. Christy saw Sean was pulling at his leg in a last desperate attempt to get him to leave her alone. She sagged in relief as Carver rose and lifted his horrible weight off of her and switched his attentions to Sean.

"So you do have some fight in you? At least you know how to take your licks," he said. He drew up his leg and smashed his heel into Sean's leg. Sean screamed and Christy winced at the crack it made. She crawled past Carver and draped herself over Sean, who was in too much pain to push her away.

"You're the only coward, fighting someone smaller than you," she spat before she could think better of it. Sean gasped at her audacity, but Carver only smiled, as if in admiration. He ran a hand through her hair and she shuddered, waiting what would inevitably come next. But it didn't.

"I wouldn't want to pluck another man's flower," Carver said. He turned and left the room as suddenly and capriciously as he'd come in, leaving Christy to tend to what was left of Sean. Until then, things hadn't seemed so bad. Of all the maniacs to get kidnapped by, Sean was nice and Carver was too singleminded to get lecherous. She hadn't thought she'd have to deal with an invalid and a madman. She knew her father was coming, but she hoped he hurried.


	11. Christy Falconetti IS On the Loose

It was then that Christy had had enough.

"That's it. We're getting out of here," she said to Sean. Sean was barely listening, since he was barely awake, but he seemed interested in the idea. He tried to say something that might have been either an encouragement or a dissuasion, but Christy was focused on other things.

There were two things in her room: a light bulb and a chair. She turned her attention to the second. The picked the chair up by its wooden back and smashed it against the wall, repeating the maneuver until it broke into pieces. She pried and picked at the seat until she dislodged a single long, sturdy nail. She then traversed the room and kicked at the crumbling drywall around the window frame until a chunk of jagged concrete flaked off. She wasn't strong enough to break down the thick wooden door, and Sean was in no condition to help, but they didn't need to. They only had to be stronger than its weakest part.

Sean made a faint questioning noise as Christy approached the door. She wedged the tip of the nail underneath the lightly rusted metal of the uppermost hinge and hammered on it with the concrete. It was slow going, and soon her fingers were raw and bruised, but it worked. The hinge slowly started to warp and bow under the pressure, and soon she could alternately pry it with her fingers and attack it with her makeshift chisel. Finally, she yanked it loose, the force of the pull causing her to fall on her behind. She started on the second as Sean tried to get to his feet. By the time he got over to help her, she was halfway through the final hinge. She kicked up her pace when she saw him coming, not wanting to hurt his pride if he tried, and surely failed, to help. She dodged aside as the door teetered and fell heavily into the room.

"Let's go," she said. She strode outside the door and turned to wait for Sean. He tried to stride outside the door and slid down the wall to prevent a worse fall.

"It's okay. Go ahead," he said.

"Nu-uh. I'm not leaving you for Carver to find," Christy said. Sean pointed as his ruined leg.

"I can't even walk," he said.

"Still no," Christy said. She bravely knelt to haul him to his feet. She then discovered just how much heavier men are than women when her efforts were entirely useless.

"I'll be fine. You have to go," Sean said.

"No!" Christy insisted. She took hold of his shirt with both hands and started to slowly inch him across the ground like a log.

"You'll never get out like this," Sean said.

"Then you better move it," Christy said. Sean did his best to scoot himself after her with his arms and one good leg, and they plodded down the hall like Christy was a husky pulling a sled backwards.

When they reached the stairs, all seemed lost. But Christy wasn't done yet, and though Sean dearly wanted to be done, Christy wasn't having it. She eased Sean down one step at a time, bracing herself against his weight by draping across the railing. It was a harrowing process as she heard Sean's yelps, and it was far worse for Sean as he made the yelps. But at last they reached the ground floor.

The ground floor was more of a garage. It was open on both sides to massive doorways made to accommodate equipment as tall as industrial excavators. Tucked into one side, behind the far outer wall, there was a single brown car.

"We have a car?!" Christy asked. She hadn't thought much farther ahead in her plan, but driving off sounded a lot better than dragging Sean to civilization or stashing him somewhere safe.

"It was for if you got away," Sean said.

"Well, _perfect!"_ Christy said. "You wait here." She draped Sean neatly on the ground and ran to the car. Since it was intended to be used at a moment's notice and they were in the middle of nowhere, the keys were conveniently stashed behind the sun visor.

 _Oh, I don't have a license!_ She thought as she turned the key. _Screw it._

She drove across the garage to the far door, where she'd left Sean. She opened the back door to the car and awkwardly assisted as he crawled painfully in. She shut the door behind him and stood back up. Over the bumper of the car, she saw what she'd been dreaming of since the whole nightmare began.

"Dad!" she yelled. For Vito was across the room, just walking through the other side of the garage. He looked as underwhelmed as always, but she knew he was just as excited as she was. She started to cross behind the car when his expression changed. He looked at something over her shoulder and reacted like a triggered guard dog. She whirled around to see what the problem was, but by then it was too late.


	12. Steven Seagal IS Kicking Butt

Vito strode into the building and took in the entire scene in an instant. As fast as he whipped out his gun, he turned it aside when he saw Carver grab Christy from behind and duck behind her. She tried to pull away, but she was no match for someone nearly twice her size. Carver tauntingly ran his hand through her hair.

"Is Christy out past her bedtime? Don't worry, I've been supervising," he said. Vito would have looked even more furious if that was possible. His stony silence froze the room.

As Carver and Vito engaged in their pissing contest, Christy was stuck in the middle trying to get far away. She wasn't worried about her father. He'd be fine and he'd get her out of there even if she didn't do anything. But she did want to make it easier for him. She thought back to all the times he'd come home from arresting some mugger or assailant and insist that she learn another self-defense move. Due to his unrelenting thoroughness, she had moves for every possible scenario, including an attack from behind. It used to be she resented his spontaneous lessons when the only spontaneous activity from him she wanted was an offer to drive her to the mall, but at last she saw the use for them. She raised one foot, tilted her toes upward, and ground it down into Carver's foot.

She'd hoped for a more dramatic reaction, but Carver only moved his foot back and loosened his grip slightly. It was still enough for her to squirm free and dart around the car, leaving a barrier between her and Carver. Vito, knowing that Carver and Christy were still too close for him to safely shoot, instead attacked in a more old-fashioned way. He charged at the car and vaulted over its trunk, hitting Carver like a torpedo. Carver tried to throw Vito off and he landed on both feet as neatly as a cat. Christy took the opportunity to flee the danger zone.

 _I should help! He doesn't need help. What do I even do? Should I go for more help? I don't want to distract him._ Christy huddled behind a pile of tools and watched the fight play out.

It was a strange clash of styles. Carver was clearly used to street style fighting that focused on heavy hits and quick dodges. Vito confounded his efforts with a refusal to take a single hit. He would sidestep, back away, or deflect Carver's strike into a harmless movement. His eyes showed his focus, but the fight seemed so easy to him he might as well have been dancing. Each man attempted to co-opt and divert the other's attacks for their own use.

Vito snapped forward like a snake at Carver's throat, striking it with stiffly pointed fingers. Carver swiped his arm sideways and tried to yank him around for a choke hold. Vito bent forward and tossed Carver over his back and onto the floor, twisting his arm until it cracked. Carver was quick enough to avoid a worse fracture and kicked a leg out at Vito's knee. Vito was not one to let a downed enemy lie, and he kicked Carver in the face as he tried to rise. Carver rode out the blow and took advantage of the distance it put between him and Vito to get back to his feet. He kicked at Vito's midsection and Vito snagged his leg out of the air and pulled it out from under him. Carver tangled his other leg around Vito's and pulled him along with him. When Carver tried to jump onto Vito, Vito stuck his arms out straight and flipped him across the floor. He was back up and in fighting stance before Carver even stopped sliding.

"Is it harder when you're not fighting a girl?" Vito taunted in a whisper. "I usually don't fight girls myself, but I'll make an exception."

"You'll never stop us. You can't comprehend what I'm fighting for," Carver said as the two searched for an opening.

"I know what I'm fighting for. And she's worth everything to me," Vito said. _My dad is the coolest,_ Christy thought.

Carver backed up and grabbed a length of chain from a crumbling shelf on the wall. He wrapped one end around his hand like brass knuckles and swung the other end at Vito like a flail. Vito danced around the thrumming lasso and snatched Carver's hand. He pivoted around Carver, still holding his hand, and bent his elbow around Carver's neck, pulling it tight until he was choking. He locked his under arm around Carver's torso in a restraining hold and bent over him as Carver tried to struggle free. Carver slammed his cracked elbow back into Vito's stomach and jerked free. He turned around and punched Vito in the stomach with his chain hand, but Vito absorbed the blow and sent a flurry of punches into his chest and neck. Carver grabbed the gun out of his holster and Vito smacked his hand aside so forcefully the gun clattered across the room. He kicked Carver's knee and smashed his elbow into his face when Carver bent from the blow. Carver shoved him back suddenly and ran for the gun. Quick as thought, Vito grabbed a brick from the debris adjoining a wall and flung it at him. It hit his back and he stumbled forward, inches from the gun.

 _Should I grab that? No, I should stay out of the way,_ Christy thought. Fearing more collateral damage and possible destruction of the walls and sheltering pile in front of her, she darted across the room and dove into the driver's seat of the car. She slammed the door shut and locked it as the fight went on.

Vito ran up beside Carver and kicked the gun away just as Carver's long fingers fell across it. Carver threw himself out of kicking range and rolled to his feet acrobatically. He threw all his weight behind a punch that would have beheaded Vito had it landed. Instead, Vito jerked his head aside and sent a flat hand striking into Carver's ribs. Carver smashed his elbow into Vito's back. Vito grabbed Carver around the waist and charged sideways, smashing them both into the half-finished wall behind them. The precarious drywall crumbled under the attack and the two men fell outside the building in a cloud of dust. Christy, watching from the car, soon found her view blocked by the remaining wall.

"You done already? Had one too many, maybe? Maybe there's a reason for the stereotypes," Vito said as Carver tried to get to his feet. Carver wiped the blood from his mouth and spat something in Gaelic.

"You've already lost. Whatever happens to me, the fight goes on. When that hospital blows sky high, they'll have you to thank. But please, enjoy the party. Maybe they'll have you cut the ribbon," Carver said. Vito pulled him down by the shirt and yanked his knee up into Carver's stomach. He stepped around behind him and bent over him, dangling him by the collar.

"Your fight is to kill a bunch of kids? You want to think about that maybe?" Vito asked.

"They die for a glorious cause," Carver said.

"Then so can you," Vito said. He seized the back of Carver's head and smacked it onto his knee. There was a crack like a dropped egg, and Carver fell limply to the ground. Vito threw him sideways and he landed in front of the open garage door, showing Christy the outcome of the fight.

Vito turned his back and started walking back to the gap in the drywall. He didn't want to even walk past Carver's body. Let him lie where he fell, abandoned by kin and country.


	13. Carver Kilkenny IS Really Dead This Time

Christy wasn't surprised when she saw Carver's limp body fly through the air and land in the open doorway, but she was still relieved. It was finally all over and they could just go home. Okay, first they could take Sean to a hospital, then go home. Okay, save the children's hospital or whatever, then take Sean to the hospital (Lucky- they'd be there anyway), _then_ go home. But inevitably, something got in the way.

 _Oh nu-uh._ Christy didn't want to believe it when she saw Carver stir. He was _dead,_ like, really dead. Her dad just tied him in a knot and snapped him in half. There was no way he was still alive. _So why is he moving?_

Vito was walking toward the car with his back to Carver. He didn't look as happy as one might expect, but Christy knew better than to think her father would ever look happy. He would have been even madder if he saw Carver lurch to his knees and grab the gun lying next to him.

Christy had a split second to decide what to do. If she warned her father, he'd have to turn around and leap onto Carver before he could pull the trigger. She wasn't sure she could warn him fast enough, and it would be all her fault if she died. Her father's teaching took over, and her foot shot forward on reflex.

 _I don't have a license!_ She thought as she floored the accelerator. _Oh, screw it. Eat this, asshole!_

Vito's blank face twitched slightly in surprise and concern when Christy turned up the gas and the car shot toward him, missing him by mere inches and wheels scraping at the ground. He turned and saw Carver standing up as Christy drew nearer. Carver turned and Christy relished his shocked expression as she rammed the car into him at full speed. He folded over the hood like an empty shirt and bounced off, flying through the air and crunching to the ground. Christy slammed on the breaks and managed to avoid running him over again. She opened the door and fled into her father's arms.

"It's okay! I got him!" she said, as though he could not see the carnage inflicted both upon Carver and the hood of the car.

"Are you all right?" Vito asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine but Sean's all messed up," she said. As soon as he heard that she was okay, Vito charged into the front seat. Christy ran around the car and followed him.

"We're going to the hospital, right?" Christy asked. Vito was too preoccupied to answer, but she was also used to that. She felt better about driving without a license when she saw the way her father ran stop signs, didn't signal his turns, and wove crazily in and out of traffic. Sean faintly protested from his bumpy perch in the backseat.

"Stay here," Vito said when they arrived at the hospital, which was surrounded by reporters and crowds.

"Hey! Why can't-" Christy started, but Vito was already gone. He shoved his way through the crowds, flashing his badge.

Vito sprinted down the halls with all the grace of a determined pickle with legs. Reporters and VIPs squawked at him as he barreled past them, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. He thundered into the newly finished wing and saw the mayor perched over the ceremonial red ribbon, a giant pair of scissors in his hands. A cluster of pale, sickly children watched on from the front row.

There was no time for formalities. The mayor looked up at the sound of shouting children and saw an airborne Vito heading straight for him. He tried to straighten up and back away and instead was flattened when Vito hit his target. The people nearby tried to rush to his aid and Vito waved them off fiercely, pushing them back and away from the ribbon.

"Everybody out! There's a bomb!" Vito yelled. Usually protocol called for a much more tactful approach to matters that might panic people, but time was still of the essence. Nurses ran up and scooped away the screaming children while the mayor ran around the room helping open doors and clear pathways. Vito stood by the ribbon, making sure no one jarred it while he waited for the bomb squad to arrive. Despite all the panic, the real danger was over. After he discovered the circumstances, the mayor wouldn't even be mad at Vito for tackling him.


	14. Steven Seagal IS Mildly Approving

There was much rejoicing and much to-do was made over the whole affair. Vito was indifferent to it all, having done similar things dozens of times before. He only wished the reporters would stop clustering around his house and making a ruckus long into the night. He was a cop. Cops didn't want everyone in the city to know their faces. They just wanted to do their jobs.

The only thing that worried him was Christy. He wasn't sure why she insisted on sticking with Carver's stooge. If it had been up to him, Sean would have been in jail as soon as the body cast came off, but Christy stuck up for him. He couldn't _prove_ Sean was involved, she said. For all he knew, Sean wandered past the building, tried to help her, and ran afoul of Carver. Vito was not that stupid, but there _was_ a lack of evidence. Whatever his role, he had done his best to help his daughter, so Vito didn't look as deeply as he could have into the whole affair.

It was obvious the boy couldn't go back to Ireland. He had made an enemy of one of the country's most notorious terrorists. Carver was dead, but others would spring up in his place. With Christy as a character witness, a media who thought Sean was a hero who tried to help her, and Vito begrudgingly assisting with paperwork, Sean was soon granted political asylum. Christy got him a job at an electronics store and to Vito's horror, Sean found an apartment less than thirty miles from their house. Vito promptly became even more reluctant to teach her to drive. When Christy pointed out that Sean, at seventeen, had his license and could teach her instead, he changed his mind. His expressions on their all-too-frequent trips to Sean's house communicated at once his disdain for the relationship, his minuscule satisfaction that he was there to supervise, and his latent rage waiting for Sean to make a misstep. And, last of all, his pride that his little girl was learning to drive.


End file.
